


Still

by notsofriendlyghosts



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unbeta'd, freewrite - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15985049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsofriendlyghosts/pseuds/notsofriendlyghosts
Summary: Hank thinks about his time with Connor, not knowing what he would do without him now.





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long, long time but I'm starting to again. I know this kind of scenario has probably been done a thousand times already but this was a freewrite I did for one of my classes so it might not make sense or be edited or anything but I hope posting this will help get me back into the groove of things. I would like to write more DBH stuff and I'm working on another longer piece but I'm still building up my skills again to make it worth the read. Please let me know what you think c:

It had been a long time since Hank felt truly at home. It wasn’t something that he planned to happen either. Just like he hadn’t planned to be partnered with an android on a case, or to have a hand in stopping a violent uprising. Just like he hadn’t planned to like working with, and even becoming friends with said android. Or to find himself living with the thing afterwards.

 _Thing_.

No, he wasn’t a _thing_ anymore. He was a person, and although he had been programmed to analyze and detect, catch and condemn, he could make his own decisions. He learned, he evolved, he _felt_.

Hank really thought that Connor had learned to feel—or at least he hoped so. The façade Connor played with in the interrogation room fell away if Hank pried. If he posed a real question, one which Connor would actually have to think about the answer to, he could see it happening. Not just in the mechanical sense—the android’s LED on his temple fazing quickly from a steady blue to a flickering, processing yellow—but also in the shape of his brow, the downcast of his soft, brown eyes.

He rubbed at his own weary eyes with thick, calloused fingers, grinding away the bits of sleep in them and marveling at the fact that he had actually slept a straight two hours before he woke. The same fingers tapped the clock next to his bed a little too hard, the red numbers that projected from it glaring back in retaliation. 3:46 AM.

When the room went dark again, it was just that. _Dark_.

There was no glow in the room. No steady blue. No processing yellow. No unstable red.

“Connor?”

The name came out more terrified than he meant it to, a certain strain that hadn’t tugged on his throat in a while. That same strain he felt when he would sit at his kitchen table, bottle of whiskey in one hand, picture of his son in the other, and a revolver on the place mat in front of him.

He hadn’t felt that in a while. Not with Connor there. Not when the android tidied and cleaned his whole house while Hank slept that first night he stayed over. Not when he’d greet Hank in the morning with a hot cup of coffee and the knowledge that Hank's old St. Bernard had already gone on a walk before he even managed to get in the shower. Not when he’d be intense and serious in the field, but quiet and serene at home, resting placidly on Hank’s couch in a worn old DPD sweatshirt and analyzing the game on the television as it played out. Not when after a while, Connor started to accompany Hank to bed too.

The android didn’t sleep so Hank didn’t see why exactly he wanted to lay there, hands clasped on his chest, eyes closed, LED glowing. What could he possibly be thinking about for the six hours or less that Hank actually slept? Didn’t he get bored?

Sometimes this concern was assuaged, when he’d wake up at the crack of dawn and see the huge stack of books by Connor’s side of the bed, eyes scanning page by page with inhuman speed. He’d once asked why Connor didn’t just download the books from the internet, and was swept over with an odd fondness when Connor replied that he wanted to learn some things the “hard way.”

But at that moment Connor did not have a stack of books, though he lay there unmoving in bed. Unnaturally still and cold.

Hank’s shaking hand met Connor’s, but the android did not respond.

“Connor!”

He shook the android’s arm, then his side, his body a dead weight. So heavy, crushing down on Hank’s chest with cold fear.

“Don’t you do this to me you piece of shit!” he growled into the darkness.

_Don’t make me lose you like I lost Cole._

Hank turned away from the corpse of plastic and hardware, snatching his hand away and bringing it to cover his eyes. The ache for the bottle was starting to become unbearable, the need for that one bullet that would make it all end. He knew this was too good to be true. Why did he put so much faith in someone that wasn’t even human to make him want to keep living? He might as well have been dreaming this whole time.

He stood, his hands itching for glass and metal.

A soft sigh of breath behind him made him stop and turn, so quickly that if it weren’t for the adrenaline spiking through his veins he would have been worried about the twinge in his back. A soft blue glow slowly became brighter, a stab of color in the darkness that brought Hank to his knees.

Connor sat up as if nothing concerning had happened, his placid, goofy smile back on his face until he saw Hank collapsed on the floor. He was quick to come to his aid but Hank was pushing him away before he even laid a hand on him.

“Lieutenant, are you alright?” he asked in that soft rasp of his voice. Hank didn’t push him away again when Connor’s hands found their way to his soft waist, his neck, his face. “I apologize, I was in a low-power mode running diagnostics and updates. I didn’t know you—”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you do that. _Ever_. Again.”

He held Connor’s hand to his cheek, wouldn’t let it go even though Connor made no move to take it away. Connor’s face came closer and for an honestly terrified moment, Hank thought that Connor might kiss him. And even more terrifying was the thought that Hank might _want_ Connor to kiss him.

But he just felt the cool touch of synthetic skin against his forehead, smoothing the harsh lines of anger and sadness and age.

“I won’t, Hank” Connor said softly. “I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are always welcome. Thank you for reading!


End file.
